


Happy Birthday, Mr. President

by propertyofjimmy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Birthdays, Comedy, Crack, Gen, Humor, I am aggressively pretending its still 2012 plus bucky and sam, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, side clint/natasha for like one second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 10:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18776296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propertyofjimmy/pseuds/propertyofjimmy
Summary: “Hang on. No one has had the sense to just check your birth certificate after seventy years?” Bucky looked bewildered at the apparent stupidity of historians and Americans in general.“I guess not,” said Steve miserably. “But I live every day in fear that someone will find out.”





	Happy Birthday, Mr. President

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Now featuring edits bc I'm an impatient idiot, also I learned how to add hyperlinks!
> 
> Hi! So this fic is the first thing I've written in probably three years, and my first thing on AO3, yay! Unbetaed, because I know no one and I'm impatient. Title is from Marilyn Monroe's Happy Birthday to JFK, because that post where Jonah Hill is like "no" reminds me of this concept. Inspired by [this post](https://couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name.tumblr.com/post/175529626795/personally-i-like-to-think-steves-birthday-isnt%20\(I%20wish%20I%20could%20do%20embedded%20links%20but%20uh...idk%20how%20to%20do%20that). Anyway, hit me on [tumblr](https://conquestical.tumblr.com) and talk to me, I just re-started it and I need friends.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Steve was jolted awake promptly at 5 am by a loud bang. He shot up in his bed to see red, white, and blue confetti fluttering all over him, and what appeared to be tiny, bedroom sized fireworks erupting at the foot of his bed. Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” began blasting from speakers he didn’t even know he had, at a volume he’d never before fathomed possible.

Steve sighed and checked his phone. July 4th.

A second later, Steve processed Bucky standing to the side of their bed, hair stuck to the side of his head, eyes still heavy with sleep, wearing nothing but bright purple Hawkeye boxers. 

“Whazzit? Who! What!” he yelled, clearly disoriented but nonetheless swinging his Beretta back and forth, looking for the threat.

“Chill out there, Iceman Cometh,” came Tony’s voice as he sauntered into the room, clearly proud of his display. “I’m just here to celebrate our good Captain’s entry into the world!” He removed his cap from his head (which Steve was fairly sure he purchased just for this occasion), and “Born in the USA” abruptly changed to what sounded like the beginning of a very patriotic and very loud rendition of the national anthem. 

Steve flopped back down on to the bed, cursing the day he’d ever agreed to move into Stark Tower. After a few moments, he craned his head up to glance at Bucky, who had not lowered the gun, but looked more confused than murderous at this point.

“…AND THE HOOOOOME…OF THEEEEE…BRAAAAAAAAVE!” Tony finished with a flourish. Luckily, the end of the song seemed to also signal the end of the confetti and fireworks. “Happy birthday, my Captain,” said Tony, with the shit-eating grin he reserved for his extremely well thought out schemes to annoy his teammates. “Team Birthday Brunch Bash at eleven on the common floor. Bruce is making pancakes, I am bringing the good looks, Thor is bringing some sort of bubbly something that he assures me will allow us to make super-mimosas that will get you twisted off your ass.” Tony grinned, knowing that Steve couldn’t really get mad at him because he’d technically evened out the wake-up call with something thoughtful. Steve sighed.

“Thank you Tony. For the brunch. Not for the confetti that is now everywhere, just the food and alcohol,” Steve grudgingly said.

“Hold on a second.” Steve sat up again to look at Bucky, who had now lowered the gun in favor of further confusion. “Your birthday?”

“Uh, yeah, Trotsky, it’s the birth of our nation, and more importantly, the birth of our fearless leader.” Tony looked at Bucky suspiciously. “I know you had amnesia or whatever, but you’re really telling me you remember Steve’s third-grade teacher’s name but not his birthday? Frankly, that’s un-American of you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at Tony. “No, you dumb shit. I know when Steve’s birthday is. It’s just that it’s not—guh!” Bucky was interrupted by Steve scrambling off the bed to yank down his Hawkeye boxers. Tony staggered backwards, covering his eyes.

“My eyes! My beautiful, young eyes! They were never meant to see centenarian dick! I cannot have my perspective warped!” Tony found his way out of the room by feeling alone, while Bucky struggled his boxers back up and turned to Steve. Steve just flopped back down on the bed and pulled his blanket over his head.

***

So, okay. The thing is. Steve was not born on July 4th.

Steve Rogers was born on December 11th, 1918. There was snow on the ground, carolers outside the hospital, and mistletoe above doorframes. It was decidedly not July.

The problem first came up on the tour circuit. In one of the first cities that the tour stopped in, Steve was signing autographs in costume outside the stage door when a little girl came up to him. She thrust a little brown package towards him, proclaiming that she was very sorry that she missed his real birthday but could not make it, on account of the fact that she was five and her mother made her go to school again. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart, you didn’t miss my birthday at all!”

“Yes, I did,” the girl had said very matter-of-factly. “Your birthday, and America’s birthday, was three weeks ago.” She stuck out three chubby fingers. “Me and mama counted. So I am very sorry it is late, but it was really your fault.” The rest of the memory is the flash of a camera, the girl being hustled away by her embarrassed mother, and a cornhusk doll that Steve had carried until Italy. When the local newspaper ran a photo with the caption, “CAPTAIN AMERICA ACCEPTS BELATED BIRTHDAY PRESENT FROM MAE SMITH, 5” it was all over. The US, thirsty for any propaganda at all, jumped on the fake birthday. Steve didn’t mind, because it wasn’t like anyone was going to celebrate his real birthday anyway.

Steve went to Italy in December. He just happened to raid Azzano on December 12th, and Bucky was in no shape to be throwing surprise parties once Steve had heaved him off that table. And then, well. Then there was the whole war thing, and the whole train thing, and finally the whole plane thing, and Steve had hoped that was the end of it.

So when he’d been defrosted like an old chicken breast in 2011, he’d been dismayed to see that his lie had lived on. After all, when the Avengers arranged his first-ever birthday party on July 4th, 2012, what was he gonna do? Say no?

Bucky looked wholly unimpressed by this story. “So you’re telling me that you agreed with a little girl in Buttfuck, Iowa in nineteen forty-whatever that your birthday was Independence Day, and now you’re too guilty to tell the truth?” Steve nodded. “You realize that’s fucking ridiculous, right?”

“Yes, Bucky,” Steve replied, exasperated. “But it’s too fucking late now! I might as well change my birth certificate at this point.”

“Hang on. No one has had the sense to just check your birth certificate after seventy years?” Bucky looked bewildered at the apparent stupidity of historians and Americans in general.

“I guess not,” said Steve miserably. “But I live every day in fear that someone will find out.”

***

Tony whistled as he walked back into his lab. He cheerfully swiped the screen to rid it of the model of the bedside fireworks—which worked great, thanks muchly, Bruce “it can’t safely be done” Banner—and sat down on his swivel stool. He began prodding at the Iron Man glove he’d been making adjustments to the night before. A few minutes later, Bruce came in, clutching a cup of coffee to his chest. He still looked fairly sleep-disoriented.

“Brucey boy! What can I do for you so early this morning?” Tony chirped.

“What the hell was going on in Steve and Bucky’s place this morning?” he asked, stifling a yawn and raising his coffee mug.

“Why, Bruce, it is our good Captain’s birthday! And as the hospitable sort of fellow I am, I prepared a birthday surprise this morning by way of a true American hero, Bruce Springsteen. Steve was surprised, to say the least.” Tony grinned at Bruce, who eyed him carefully over the rim of his Spider-Man mug.

“You did all that without Barnes actually killing you?”

“Well, of course,” Tony scoffed. “I am loved and cherished by all residents of my Tower. Consider it a safety deposit of sorts.” Taking in Bruce’s accusing stare, Tony continued. “That, and he was really confused about why I was celebrating Steve’s birthday when it isn’t his birthday.”

Bruce lowered the mug and gave Tony a look like he might have finally lost it. “It is Steve’s birthday. You’ve been making Fourth of July jokes to me for a month now. There’s no way either of us have mixed up the date.”

“Ah ah ah, Brucey. See, you are mistaken. The real joke in all of this is that Steve, our fearless leader, O Captain My Captain, Steven Grant Rogers, was actually born December 11th, 1918. He’s just been lying to all of us! For shame!”

Bruce looked skeptical. “And why on Earth do you think that.”

“Well, for one, wouldn’t it be handy if the little knucklehead they pulled off the streets of Brooklyn to be a shining beacon of the American Dream just happened to be born on July 4th. It would be! But that’s not the case.” Tony’s grin faltered a little. “Also, on December 11th I was always forced to eat whatever poor excuse for soda bread the nanny of the month could whip up. Howard had such a hard-on for Steve.” Bruce analyzed Tony a little more closely. He seemed to really only be miffed by his caretakers' ineptitude when it came to Irish baked goods, so he let it slide. 

“However,” Tony continued, brightening. “A new player has entered the game. One James Buchanan Barnes, born January 27th, 1917. Someone who supposedly has never lied about his birthday. Someone who knows Steve’s actual birthday. And most importantly,” Tony leaned in as a downright evil grin spread across his face. “Bucky loves fucking with Steve almost as much as I do.”

Bruce regarded Tony listlessly for a few seconds, then stood up and walked out without a word. If he was going to be able to make it through today, he was going to need a lot more coffee.

***

After what had turned out to be an unexpectedly long day, what with the five AM wake up call and all, Steve decided to spend the night watching Call the Midwife. Bucky could only spend so much time watching a show where essentially the same thing happened every time, but Steve had a weird obsession with it. Bucky decided after half an episode that his time could be better put to use elsewhere, and took the elevator down to Tony’s lab. The AC/DC blasting through the speakers didn’t deter him, nor did the passcode on the door. Bucky strolled up and stood a fairly safe five feet in front of Tony, watching as he soldered something that looked another suit, but was suspiciously webby.

It was three minutes before Tony glanced up, and nearly singed off his eyebrows with how high he jumped. The music abruptly cut off.

“Jesus Christ! How did you even get in here? JARVIS, did you let Frozone in?”

“No, sir,” replied JARVIS. “It appears that Sergeant Barnes was quickly able to disable your security protocols for the lab space. I was overridden.” Tony scoffed.

“How is that even possible? I am a literal genius, they didn’t even have computers when you were in school,” Tony complained.

Bucky regarded him dryly. “Part of my HYDRA training was community college computer science courses. I’m also real good at Alice.” Tony regarded him suspiciously, but as always, he was unsure whether or not Barnes was joking about his proficiency in rudimentary animation programs.

“Well, incredible breach of security aside, what can I help you with on this fine evening?” Tony asked, turning back to his work.

“I want to know why you care so much about Steve’s birthday,” Bucky replied, taking a seat on a relatively uncluttered workbench.

“What do you mean? I am quite the team player, and I’m also incredibly rich.” Tony shot Bucky a quick grin. “Don’t worry, I already have a deposit down for catering January 27th, Buttercup. I’m thinking a Great Gatsby theme, that way it’s vintage for everyone involved. Although—fuck, you were born before the twenties. So not really. You know what, fuck it, we’re doing it anyway. As much as I love vintage parties, you can only go so far, and no offense Barnes, but no one really wants an industrial revolution party, that Parker kid was just telling me about his history class and it was a snoozefest—“

“Tony,” Bucky interrupted. “Steve’s birthday. Why.”

“I think you know why, Barnes,” replied Tony, leveling a gaze across the table. Bucky met him with an equally steely gaze, waiting for a reply. Tony was good at this game. He was Iron Man, for god’s sake, and before that, he was an arms dealer, and before that, the child of the world’s least caring father. Tony was not afraid of conflict, and he’d always thought eye contact was one of his fortes. Tony was perfectly content to sit here until—

“You can’t smoke in here,” Tony quickly supplied as Bucky pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes (where the hell was this man even getting Luckies?) from his back pocket. Bucky continued staring at Tony, although now his expression somehow said “I know for a fact you set yourself on fire once a week in here.” Tony sighed.

“Fine. It’s because I know a little something about the Captain that for some reason, no one else knows. And, if you’re interested, I could use some help.” Tony pushed aside his work and rested his chin in his hand.

Bucky continued staring at Tony as he exhaled a steady stream of smoke. A slow grin began to spread across his face. 

“What did you have in mind?”

***

Generally, being an Avenger was fairly easy work. Other than the whole “fate of the world” burden, Steve found himself almost bored at times. What he didn’t love was that ever since Bucky had been officially added to SHIELD’s roster, he had been assigned primarily to covert ops, while Steve had to stay behind to tend to any Captain America issues. Sometimes, it meant they were apart for holidays. Sometimes, it meant Bucky was out of town for Steve’s real birthday.

It wasn’t a big deal, Steve was telling himself. They’d already celebrated earlier this year, and even if it wasn’t his actual birthday, he still got to spend time with his friends. And today wouldn’t be so bad, either. It was Saturday, and Tony had invited everyone up to the common floor for dinner. 

The whole team, minus Bucky, Natasha, and Thor, was just getting started on digging into tacos when the elevator dinged and opened to reveal the two missing spies, snow still melting on their tac gear. Bucky and Natasha were met with general enthusiasm, as they weren’t expected for another 48 hours at least.

Natasha quickly took a seat next to Clint, and gave him what was possibly one of the most covert kisses Steve had ever witnessed. It was still a mystery to pretty much everyone on the team how Clint, who could be described as nothing other than “chaotic,” had managed to get Natasha, but it had apparently been working for some undefined amount of time. Clint grinned at her like the disastrous idiot he was, and Natasha gave him a small smile back before reaching for the tortillas.

For someone who’d been a ghost for the better part of a century, Bucky wasn’t quite so secretive. He collapsed in the chair next to Steve, groaning loudly before leaning over to smack a kiss on Steve’s cheek. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, grinning.

“M’tired,” replied Bucky, dropping his forehead on the table.

“You know for a spy, you’re one of the least subtle people I’ve ever met,” called Tony from across the table. He was quickly hit in the face by a tortilla, seemingly from nowhere. “Hey!”

“Tactical tortilla,” mumbled Bucky, who hadn’t appeared to have moved from his position on the table. Steve reached over and began rubbing the place between Bucky’s shoulder blades that he always complained about after missions.

“I thought you guys weren’t due back until Monday night,” Steve asked, raising his voice so Natasha could also hear the question.

“We weren’t,” Natasha replied, rolling her eyes slightly. “But somebody went all Rambo to get us out of there two days early.” She was grumbling, but Steve could see the glint in her eye that meant she wasn’t really mad.

Bucky sat up. “Well, I wanted to come home.” He gave Steve a quiet smile, which he happily returned. Bucky stood up and walked towards the living room. Steve stood up to follow. “Hold your horses, there, punk. I’ll be right back.”

Steve watched him head towards the living room. It was amazing to him that he and Bucky were even here, when he thought he’d be dead by twenty, and that he’d never get the life he really wanted to live with Bucky. Maybe they weren’t naturally meant to meet the 21st century, and they’d both gone through some horrible shit to get there, but Steve was so, so, thankful—

“Now,” said Bucky, returning with a small package and a card on top addressed to Steve. Steve’s stomach dropped. “I had to come back, I wasn’t about to miss my best guy’s birth—“ 

He was cut off by 200 pounds of blond super soldier tackling him to the floor.

***

Steve was right, of course. He was never going to hear the end of it. Tony cackles about it weekly, and Sam was all offended that his new best friend had lied about his birthday, and Clint was all pissed that Tony now throws Steve two parties every year. Even Parker swung by to ask, “Really, Mr. Captain America, sir, did my history teacher lie? Because she gave me a C on my paper about World War II propaganda because of ‘issues of factual integrity’ and also because its really hard to cite a conversation at movie night in MLA format, and if you could just write me a note I think I could maybe cite that?”

But when a professor from Rutgers University was digging around in the Army archives and found a birth certificate for one Steven Grant Rogers, born December 11, 1918, well. If she received a generous financial endowment from Stark Industries in exchange for handing the birth certificate over to the very nice red head who came all the way from New York to collect it, that was just a coincidence.


End file.
